


Curse, Post-Curse

by brokenlittleboy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Claustrophobia, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dizziness, Headaches & Migraines, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nausea, Paralysis, Protective Dean Winchester, Spells & Enchantments, Witch Curses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-03
Updated: 2018-05-02
Packaged: 2019-05-01 10:54:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14518944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brokenlittleboy/pseuds/brokenlittleboy
Summary: Sam gets cursed by a witch and is left with vertigo, nausea, and migraines. In his condition, he goes out to fight the witch--but the end result is another curse, this time much worse. Written for the Sam Winchester Birthday Meme over at OhSam on Livejournal.





	1. HURT

**Author's Note:**

> Once again, written for OhSam. Many delicious prompts were had, but I needed to try this one.
> 
> We were supposed to write either hurt or comfort, but after writing the hurt... I needed the comfort. Whoops. 
> 
> Split into two parts.
> 
> Enjoy!

HURT

 

“We should split up,” Sam says. “Cover more ground.”

 

Dean is speaking over him, saying “no, no, no,” progressively louder in volume, before he’s even finished. Dean grabs him by the arm, glares at him with an intensity that Sam finds frankly excessive. “Look at yourself,” he growls. “You can’t go on your own like this.” He gestures at Sam.

 

Sam doesn’t need to look down at himself. He knows that if he does, he’ll suffer another dizzy spell, the ground swimming under his feet, knees going weak. Sam almost wants to learn the spell the witch threw at him. It’s efficiency and brevity make it a smart choice when trying to escape two heavily armed Winchesters. It’s only been around four hours since he was hit with it, and he’s already puked twice. His headache is not to be reckoned with, and the amount of times he has hit his forehead while entering the Impala is embarrassing.

 

“We don’t have time,” Sam says. He can repeat himself, negotiate until Dean gives in. He’s a very patient man. “You know that Hattie is going to go after Lissa or Margaret next. We need to try both their places at once.”

 

“No.” Dean looks just as pissed as before. His eyebrows are going to get stuck like that. “Just no, Sam. End of discussion.”

 

“Not end of discussion,” Sam says, blinking rapidly to dispel the shakiness of his vision. It’s not going to help his case if he stumbles into Dean right now. “I know it sucks, I know it’s a crap shoot, but it’s what we do.”

 

Dean doesn’t look happy at that, but he doesn’t say anything, either. Sam goes for the Impala parked at the curb, pretending to shoulder-check Dean to cover the way his knees almost give out. Dean doesn’t move at first, presumably just watching Sam in concern, but comes over to help fold Sam into the Impala.

 

They drive off, Dean shooting Sam glances every few blocks. Sam leans back, closing his eyes, swallowing back random influxes of saliva and praying Hattie is easy to shoot. 

 

***

 

Dean drops Sam off in front of Lissa’s house. Sam watches Dean head for Margaret’s before ambling up the front walk. He peers in the front door windows, headache throbbing between his eyes as he squints into the shadowy darkness of a front hall in the kind of disrepair that only comes from a struggle.

 

Sam creeps around the back of the house, leaning on the siding more for balance reasons than for stealth reasons. He pauses next to the garden hose, crumbling to his knees. He narrowly misses smushing some snapdragons when he collapses. The whole world drops out from under him, turning into a swing. One of the chain snaps and swing goes flying, Sam with it, cartwheeling through space with thumbtacks rattling around inside his skull and getting caught in his brain and the backs of his eyes.

 

Sam forces himself upright, forces his eyes open, and throws himself forward, relying on inertia to get anywhere, much like a toddler. He gets to the back of the house and flops around the corner, blinking and squinting, rubbing at his temples. God. It’s not very often they take a case inside a pinball machine. 

 

Sam has no idea how he gets the back door open. One moment he is crouching by the lock, eyes crossed, vision swimming, and the next, he’s leaning on the door, falling inside at Hattie’s feet. She’s got Lissa by the arm.

 

Sam hauls himself upright, breathing heavily. He looks at Lissa’s face--he’s not even going to try to meet her eyes right now--and jerks his head. His body stumbles with it. “Go,” he says, and thank god, she goes.

 

Sam turns to Hattie. Hattie’s looking at him with one pretentious eyebrow raised, lips slightly quirked in amusement. Do all witches practice some spell to master that fucking look? “Sam,” she says, shaking her head, “you really shouldn’t be out in your condition.”

 

“You shouldn’t be out in yours, either, but I guess there’s no cure for bitchiness,” Sam snaps back despite himself. He gets his gun out and fires. It hits the freezer. Hattie laughs. She thrusts an arm out and Sam goes flying. 

 

He ragdolls, making the landing easier. He didn’t hit a bookshelf or a stack of bricks, so things might actually be in his favor for once. He stumbles upright as Hattie approaches. He reaches for his gun, bends over, and pukes on his shoes. 

 

Hattie tsks at him. She grabs him by his shirt button and hauls him upright. Sam glares at her. “Honey,” she coos. “This just isn’t going well for you. I’ll teach you not to mess with--”

 

She’s cut off by the startling amount of blood gushing past her lips. Sam turns the knife in her stomach and a high whine passes her lips along with all the blood. It’s also soaking through her shirt, hot on Sam’s knuckles. He yanks the blade out, but she comes with it at first. He yanks harder, and with a loud squelch, she goes down in a puddle at his feet.

 

Sam stumbles backward, falling against the wall and closing his eyes. Relief washes through him. He hates witches. He hates monologues. He hates getting blood on his favorite shirts. 

 

Sam slides down, sitting against the flowery wallpaper. He pulls his phone out of his pocket and dials Dean’s number by sense memory. Dean picks up immediately. “Sammy?” he says. “You okay?”

 

“Got her,” Sam answers. “I--” he groans. He grabs his head, phone falling to his side. His headache comes back to life with a vengeance, entering migraine territory. He makes another pathetic sound, tipping over and collapsing to the ground beside Hattie. His muscles go lax, his limbs unresponsive, until the only movements he’s capable of are distressed pants and rapid blinks. 

 

His vision goes fuzzy. The last thought he has before he’s chucked sideways into unconsciousness is that he’s got fucking witch blood in his hair.

 

***

 

“Sammy? Sammy!” Dean slams on the steering wheel in frustration. He’d been so thankful, so proud of Sam for dispatching the witch while under that nasty curse, and then he’d heard sounds from his worst nightmares, sound of Sam pain.

 

Dean chucks his phone into the backseat and guns it, executing a rushed three-point turn as he heads back toward the other end of the neighborhood, where Sam needs him.

 

Dean could try the doorknob, but he’s a little pressed on time, so he kicks down the front door. He does a sweep, gun at the ready, eyes trained for action but also for little brothers. Nothing in the front hall or the living room except for upturned tables and broken vases. “Sammy?” he calls. “You in here?”

 

No response. Dean makes his way down the hall and to the back of the house, where the kitchen and dining hall sit. In the kitchen, the back door is open, and some bullet casings clink and roll under his boots. 

 

He looks into the dining room and his breath hitches. Sprawled on the ground, Hattie and Sam lay in a giant pool of blood. Dean can’t tell who it belongs to. Sam’s knife is covered in blood, and both of their faces are lax and pale. 

 

Dean drops to his knees beside Sam. He shoves Hattie’s limp corpse out of the way, lips twisting in mild disgust when he gets congealed blood on his pants. He searches Sam’s body for obvious signs of injury. “Sammy?” he asks. Nothing. His heart leaps into his throat. He reaches out and presses a finger to Sam’s pulse point.

 

He almost passes out. Heavy, strong pulse, just the slightest bit slow. But one hundred percent alive and well. Sam’s eyelashes flicker and Dean leans over him, brushing Sam’s stickied hair out of his face. “Sammy?” he calls again.

 

Sam’s eyes blink slowly open to mere slits. His eyes have trouble focusing at first, and they’re covered in a thick film. Sam blinks again and tears go down his cheeks and into his hair. Dean wipes them away. His concern slams back into his chest full force. “Sammy? You good?” he asks, swallowing.

 

Sam’s eyes open a little wider and rove over to Dean. They share a look, recognition in Sam’s eyes, but Sam doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even move. 

 

Dean laughs, feeling a little manic. “Blink once if you can hear me,” he says, mostly as a joke, but Sam blinks once.

 

Dean goes sober-serious in a heartbeat. “You know the drill, once for yes, twice for no. Can you speak?”

 

Sam looks at him, and it kind of creeps Dean out. His facial muscles are all relaxed, devoid of expression, but Dean can still see the distress in Sam’s eyes. Sam blinks twice.

 

“Fuck. Can you move?”

 

Sam blinks twice.

 

“Did she do this?”

 

Sam waits for a beat, then blinks once. Just a theory, then, but most likely true.

 

“Alright, c’mon,” Dean says, getting both of his arms under Sam. He grunts, lifting with his knees. Sam might be tall, but the kid’s a lanky sonofabitch. He’s heavy, sure, but not beyond Dean’s limit. Dean stands, grunting, and carries Sam out of the house and to the Impala.


	2. COMFORT

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean to the rescue.

COMFORT

 

Sam feels a little stupid for enjoying this, but it’s been a long time since Dean carried him to bed, humming a lullaby, and well. Looks like a part of him misses those childhood days. Dean dumps him onto the nearest bed, and while that’s not out of Sam’s nostalgic memories, neither is being paralyzed by a witch.

 

Speaking of. Sam tries not to freak out while Dean gets him out of his button down, jeans and shoes. Curses typically wear off, or lose effect when the spell caster dies, but wouldn’t it just be his luck if this one were permanent? Sam’s not sure he can stand being practically a vegetable for the rest of his life. 

 

Dean leaves him in a shirt and boxers, but comes back a minute later. He leans over Sam, sitting on the edge of the bed, singing a Beatles song. He presses a warm washcloth to Sam’s forehead and Sam sighs. Sam closes his eyes while Dean gets blood out of Sam’s hair. 

 

Sam tries to focus on Dean’s gentle ministrations but it’s no use. His brain has latched onto the situation he’s found himself in, and he keeps trying to feel his limbs, his body, but it just doesn’t work. He feels disembodied, a consciousness floating a couple of inches above the bed. It makes him feel claustrophobic in his own body. He’s trapped.

 

“Hey. Hey, calm down,” Dean murmurs. Sam looks up at Dean. “Breathe, Sammy. Slower.”

 

Oh. Sam can’t really feel himself breathing, but he can feel himself freaking out, so. He tries to inhale and exhale with Dean’s countdown, matching Dean’s easy pace. After a while, Dean relaxes, smiling crookedly, so Sam supposes he must be doing well.

 

“Alright.” Dean claps his hands once and draws the comforter up over Sam’s body. Sam feels both elated and panicked when he can vaguely feel the pressure on his chest, when he realizes his right foot has fallen asleep. 

 

Not permanent. Not fucking permanent. Still not the most pleasant experience, but wonderfully temporary. Tomorrow at this time, Sam will hopefully be back to normal, sitting in the passenger seat, trying to convince Dean not to go to Biggerson’s for the fifth time in the last two weeks.

 

Dean reads something from Sam. “Any better?”

 

Sam blinks once. Dean drops his head. When he lifts it, he’s smiling. “So, business as usual. You’ll be ship-shape by morning.” He thumps Sam solidly on the thigh.

 

Dean gets up and Sam’s heart starts jumping around again. He’s not going to go, is he? It makes sense, of course, Sam’s getting sleepy, but still.

 

He can’t shake the childish feeling running rampant inside him, the caged feeling that the damned curse spreads through his veins like poison, choking him just that much more with each adrenaline-spiked beat of his heart.

 

Dean sits back down, frowning at Sam. “What is it, Sammy?”

 

Sam doesn’t know how to articulate it with just his fucking eyelashes, but he’s sure the inevitable burning on his cheeks is speaking for him. After a puzzled beat, Dean’s concerned expression smooths out, gets soft. 

 

“Do you want me here?” Dean asks. 

 

Sam doesn’t want to, but he blinks once.

 

Dean smiles. “Just until we’re sure the worst is past,” Dean confirms. “Not something to take lightly, Sammy.”

 

Dean gets out of his jeans and hops into the bed beside Sam, getting under the covers and shifting until he’s comfortable. Sam feels Dean’s arms wrap around him. Dean draws him closer, shifting him into a better position.

 

“Night, Sammy,” Dean mutters, yawning right into Sam’s face before closing his eyes.

 

“Mnuh,” Sam manages, and Dean smiles. 

 

Sam’s pulse settles into something less panicky. His own eyes droop. He twitches a finger, curling it into the material of Dean’s shirt.

 

He falls asleep.

 

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, thank you! <3

**Author's Note:**

> My school year is almost over, so hopefully I will have more time to write over the summer. You guys can't get rid of me that easily! I've also written a bigbang so you guys will see that over the summer :)
> 
> Thank you to all of you from the bottom of my heart for sticking with me and leaving sweet comments and just generally being amazing. I know it gets said a lot, but I genuinely could not do what I do without y'all :)
> 
> Thanks again! <3


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